


kept boy

by illycrium



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Kidnapping, Multi, fucked to death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illycrium/pseuds/illycrium
Summary: Young Muddler is the unwilling pet of a tall, cruel traveler.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

her little paws are scrabbling for purchase in the roughspun sheets, tearing and fraying edges and gripping tightly as she lets out a gutteral groan like a dying cow. Styx spreads her legs wider and she makes the noise again, breath trapped in her chest. 

Her eyes are wild and white, the fur on her thighs slick and going tacky with blood, adding a sick wetness to the thump of flesh meeting flesh. Muddler feels distinctly queasy. 

He’s glad he can’t see Styx’s face. It’s covered by his hair, undone, and he knows the monster would look fucking blissed out as if he didn’t have a little girl dying on his cock. Maybe he knows she’s dying, and he doesn’t care. 

Both options frighten Muddler, but he’s stock still on the bed. Were he to move, he was certain the monster would feast on him next. 

Styx’s thrusts are quickening. The headboard bangs into the wall. A tiny paw grabs hold of Muddler’s and squeezes tight. 

Their eyes meet. She just wants to hold someone’s hand before she dies. He doesn’t move. He can’t. He’s locked in her dimming gaze, watching as what little light she had left swirls down the drain, and abruptly leaves her. 

She isn’t screaming, or making those tin-rattley gasps anymore. She can’t. She’s dead. 

Styx doesn’t realize until he’s reached his climax and wiped himself down with a wet towel, cleaning the tacky blood from his pelvis and thighs and hair. 

Muddler’s hand is still locked in hers. How can he look away now? Was he even allowed to? 

“Boy,” Styx snaps, but his voice is faraway and inconsequential. He just watched the life drain from a child younger than himself. There’s an empty pit in his belly. 

“Boy.” 

His face is grabbed in one big hand and yanked. His neck hurts. His blank gaze meets Styx’s, blue and green and flushed cheeks and rusk colored skin. 

“She’s dead.” Obviously. “I could do the same to you. Anytime I wanted.” 

The pit in his belly grows. 

“You wouldn’t be able to stop me. She certainly couldn’t.”

Muddler’s breath shudders in his chest, and the nausea rises strong again. Styx steps back to avoid getting dirtied as the boy retches. Mortified that all this—forcing him to watch, killing the poor orphan girl—was nothing more than to prove a point. To teach a lesson. Was he supposed to feel grateful? Threatened? Happy with the knowledge that his monstrous captor just didn’t feel like ripping him in half?

“I wanna go home.” He gasps instead around a mouthful of stomach bile. “I wanna go home.”

Styx looks disappointed. 

When he lays a hand on Muddler’s shoulder, the Muddler is too frightened to flinch away. 

“I am your home now.”

When they are both dressed, Styx requests coffee. Muddler holds his cup and stares into the mud-brown liquid. It tastes dreadful. Styx doesn’t seem to mind. He drinks it down quick, and throws a charming smile to the Principal, who is uncharacteristically silent. 

“You didn’t tell me you would—“ but he cuts her off with a palmful of cash and a rogueish wink. She stares at the money in her hand, quivering just so slightly. There’s dry blood on her shoes and the bottom of her dress. She’s stunned into silence by the nonchalance with which Styx takes the situation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and Muddler’s grip tightens on his mug, “you can always find a new one.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> muddler doesnt want to play. styx doesnt take no for an answer.

That night, Muddler warms his paws in front of the fire. There’s a rustle behind him, cloth shifting as Styx leans over in his bedroll and slips a warm hand up the boy’s tunic, across the bony knobs of his spine. 

“Come to bed.” He purrs, his voice rich and deep in the way that would send most people swooning. To a child, it’s frightening. 

“I’ll warm you up.” 

The hand slips round his side to his belly, ready to pull the boy closer. His abdomen jumps, and a sudden retch startles the invading hand away. 

“No.... “ Muddler’s suddenly fraught with tremors. Only hours ago he had held a girl’s paw as she died. The mere thought of having to endure Styx’s attentions was particularly unbearable. 

He could still smell her blood on him. Muddler heaves, but nothing comes up. Just a faint, bitter burn that leaves him clenching his fists and drooling. 

Styx is silent behind him, and then he grabs Muddler by the back of his tunic and yanks him under the tent. Startled, the child chokes on the next gag, hiccups a pitiful attempt at a scream. 

“No, no!” Muddler wails. The birds and critters nearby flee, unable to help and unwilling to listen to the boy howl. “Please, not—I can’t!” 

Styx’s face is red in his fury. He’s offended, fragile ego hurt by the thought of a little boy being unwilling to fuck him. He shakes Muddler by the shoulders. “Am i just too disgusting for you?” he snarls, “is that it? am i not fucking good enough for you?” 

“Nooo, no no no,” Muddler squeaks in a panic, scrambling to fix the situation.

Father was easy. Muddler never thought he would miss getting grabbed by his father, having his fur ripped out and names shouted in his face. He could handle that. He could cry silently and gasp in pain and then his father would tire of him and move on.

With Styx—Muddler feels a type of panic he’s never experienced before. Pure dread, cold in his chest and all the way down to his fingertips. Worse than when papa had the belt out, or came home stinking of alcohol and prone to punching at little Muddlers. Bruises he could take. He could handle, with give or take a few tears. 

Muddler keens as his trousers are wrenched down over this creamy little thighs. It’s a high noise. He’s too frightened to scream. 

“Please, just—not tonight!” his tiny hands are absolutely useless, trying to push Styx’s away, slap at them, attempt to impede his progress. “Please! Tomorrow, I can—I’ll do anything. I-I—“ 

Styx spits on his fingers, and Muddler takes to rolling side to side, fighting hard to dislodge himself and escape the fingers wiggling in between his clenched buttocks. 

“I wanna sleep. A-and cuddle, but just cuddling— we can huggggHHH!” 

He kicks hard when the first finger breaches, and Styx finally pulls away. He slams his hands down on either side of Muddler’s head, teeth gritted. 

“Muddler,” his voice is very low. Muddler is frozen. “Shut the fuck up.” 

He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s babbling. “I’m scared,” he gasps, his hands gripping his wrinkled tunic, “I’m so scared. Please not tonight. Please. I’m scared.”

He misses the early days when they first met. Styx, still grooming him then, would smile and kiss his forehead. He would give him sweets and comfort him, tell him they could “play” later. 

The true Styx glowers down at him. He feels small and worthless. 

Styx grabs his shoulders, and rolls him onto his belly. Muddler’s legs go ramrod stiff, but Styx is still able to work a thigh in between his knees, locking him open so he can spit on his hole. 

He’s frozen, hands trembling and clasped to his chest. He barely registers the dry burn of fingers invading his secret spot, can’t hear the squelching over the sound of his hyperventilating. 

Early Styx would have held him and stroked his back until his breathing slowed. True Styx holds his palm over Muddler’s mouth and nose until he can’t breathe, and pushes the first cock inside. 

Muddler’s agonized shriek is muffled by Styx’s palm. He goes to sniffle and gasp for air, but Styx refuses to allow him to breathe. He scrambles desperately, lungs burning, cheeks wet with tears. His little nails dig red lines into Styx’s hand, but the man is too caught up in fucking his dick all the way up into his guts to notice. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe at all. It’s like drowning but he feels even more helpless. All Styx has to do is move a single finger and he could breathe, but he won’t. 

Muddler’s struggles die down. When he’s nearly limp, Styx spreads his fingers and the boy chokes as he takes a deep, greedy breath. He focuses on breathing, almost forgets the mass lodged in his intestines. 

“Too much,” he grunts, pained. When Styx’s hand goes back to cover his mouth and nose to shut him up, he screams again. Not again, no, he can’t— 

He’s all full up, stomach bulging against the bedroll below. The dread is pooled in his belly, and spills out through the rest of his body now. He wonders if Styx will fuck the life out of him too. 

If he did, who would hold his paw?

It’s easier not to move. It lasts forever, Muddler limp on the bedroll, watching darkness creep in at the corners of his vision, then recede when he’s quiet enough to be allowed air. By the time Styx orgasms, he’s dead silent, his mind detached and far off and regarding his pain with distant acknowledgement. 

He watches the canvas of the tent wall. It’s a dirty mustard yellow. The color follows him in his dreams sometimes, stealing the blue of the sky to replace with yellow. In his dreams, Styx plucks him from the normalcy of his burrow, and rapes him again and again under the yellow sky as he cries out for his uncle.

Styx doesn’t bother to dress him. He rolls over and crawls out of the tent to take a drink from the canteen and piss in the forest. 

Muddler doesn’t move. He’s sore all over, and breathing feels better than anything else in the world could ever feel. 

He misses his uncle. He tries to imagine warm arms around him, a kind voice coaxing him to talk about his collections. He tries, but all he can think of is Styx holding him, holding him down, opening him up— He stops thinking of his uncle, lest Styx taint one of his few pleasant memories.

Muddler still hasn’t moved by the time Styx returns. The man places his foot against Muddler’s side, and pushes him to the far side of the tent like he’s a chair in the way. Clearly, he doesn’t feel like snuggling tonight. 

That’s alright. Muddler doesn’t either.


End file.
